From Fitzroy’s Private Diary (Extract 186)

I’ve written down my thoughts on Christmas before. I’m now much more organised about it. I ensure that by the start of November I know who I’ll buy gifts for, and which should be personally acquired. I then send Griffin out to collect them. I do so enjoy his disapproval when I send him to pick up intimate items for my closer female friends. The first time I did this, I thought he’d actually combust!

I used to ensure that I knew well ahead where I’d be spending Christmas. It’s much easier these days as I’m usually at White Orchards for at least part of the holiday season. So much better than having to go home to see my wretched father and all my other easily disposable relatives.

I’ve quite surprised myself in delighting in finding Hope decent toys, and not the worthy things bought for her by her parents. Stepping into a toy shop took me back to my youth. I was, like most children, full of wonder at the world, and a good toy department can cause one to briefly and vicariously recapture that. The bright colours, the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the little ones, the creaking of the fathers’ wallets, the gloriously safe and fantastical world of the young, where when play is finished, the toys go back into the toy chest, and someone who loves you tucks you up for the night. Battles with wooden soldiers, who might fall on the battlefield, but always stand up again in the end, and whose injuries can be fixed with a little glue and paint. Then there’s the games that have no purpose other than whiling away a few hours indulging in friendly, harmless fun. Of course, there are also certain games that one can play as an adult, but care is required to ensure they too remain purely fun.

I’ve no objection to buying Hope cartloads of toys, but I don’t ever want to be in a position of buying them because I have my own child. That wouldn’t do at all. I am still far too young and full of wonder to ever be a parent myself – and intend things to stay that way.